


Based on the Evidence

by lynnmonster



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Hate Crimes, Pigtail Pulling, Self-Discovery, UST, Undercover As Gay, Undercover as a Couple, accidental dickishness, purposeful dickishness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnmonster/pseuds/lynnmonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santiago and Diaz go undercover as a couple in a gay bar.  </p><p>Amy and Rosa get to know one another a little better.  Amy learns a few things.  And Peralta may not be the only coworker she has a little UST with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Based on the Evidence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perfectlystill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlystill/gifts).



> I have no idea where in Brooklyn the precinct is supposed to be located, so rather than getting unintentionally jossed, all location specifics are blatantly and ridiculously fictionalized instead. Police procedure is similarly rigorous.
> 
> Thanks as always to my betas for the helpful feedback.
> 
> See the notes at the end for warnings.

Peralta was the last one to arrive, sliding into the empty seat next to Amy and jostling her arm. She jostled him right back. “Has anybody seen the other half of my bagel?” Scully asked as Peralta elbowed Amy in the ribs.

“It’s in your hand,” Gina drawled, and Amy dug her pen into Peralta’s armpit. Peralta yelped and slapped at her.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks!” Scully said. He took a pleased bite and a glob of cream cheese fell onto his shirt.

Other people were chatting about their weekend cookouts or whatever, but most of Amy’s attention was on the slap fight she and Peralta were having. The slap fight she was going to win.

“Listen up,” Terry said from the front of the briefing room.

Peralta had her right hand pinned to the top of the desk but she got him in the face with her left, accidentally catching his nostril with the nail of her pinky finger but cherishing his yelp of pain with all the satisfaction of an intentional hit.

“I said listen up!” Terry bellowed, and the room quieted. Amy turned to face the front with a smug smile and clasped her hands primly in front of herself.

“There have been a series of attacks centered around the new bar on Fabrication Street,” Terry said once he was sure he had everyone’s attention. He pointed at the map on the wall, which had a few bright red pushpins marking the cluster of violent activity.

“You mean that new titty bar?” Hancock asked.

“The Heaving Bosom is only a titty bar in the sense that there are lots of titties inside, you schmoe,” Peralta said. “It’s a lesbo bar, Hancock.”

“Don’t say ‘titty’ you guys,” Terry said, a pleading tone entering his voice. “Or ‘lesbo,’” he added. Amy reinforced this lesson by punching Peralta in the arm.

Slap fight? Back _on_.

“In the past three weeks, at least eleven women have been attacked.” Terry’s voice rose to be heard over the escalating chatter and the sounds of Amy and Peralta smacking away at one another. “Hey! You guys! These are somebody’s _little girls_ we’re talking about,” Terry said, a note of desperation entering his voice.

“They’re _grown women_ ,” Diaz corrected sharply.

Peralta was basically just slapping at Amy’s hands by this point, and she knew it looked stupid but she was basically just slapping back. It was an automatic reaction. Terry was making disgruntled grumbling noises up front, but Amy was not going to be the first to back down even if it meant that the sergeant was going to be annoyed with them.

Gina wriggled her head and a substantial amount of her torso in between the two of them, interrupting their increasingly pathetic battle while somehow managing not to get hit. “Stop flirting so much you guys,” she said, wagging her finger at them and snapping her gum. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Pssht, flirting, no way,” Amy protested, snatching her hands back just as Peralta said, “Yeah, embarrassing for _me_ , you mean.”

“Embarrassing for you both, really. Captain’s here,” Gina sing-songed, wiggling back into her chair and snapping her gum again without shame as the door fell shut with an emphatic thud. The room echoed with the sudden, panicky quiet of the substitute’s class whose regular teacher has unexpectedly returned.

Captain Holt glided majestically and silently past them. Nobody made a sound as he proceeded to the front of the room, but Amy couldn’t help the small sigh that escaped as she admired his commanding stride.

The Captain thanked Terry with a nod and took his position in front of the map.

“Let me impress upon you all the gravity of this situation.” He paused and somehow made eye contact with the whole room at once.

“It is clear that these attacks are hate crimes aimed at the bar’s clientele. They initially ranged from verbal harassment and intimidation to shoving and tripping, but the severity increased this weekend when a woman was struck from behind with a blunt object. She was taken to the E.R. to treat her injured shoulder. The perpetrator or perpetrators are escalating, and thus far have remained unidentified and unchecked.”

Boyle raised his hand. “Yes, Charles?” the Captain said.

“Isn’t Fabrication Street, you know, under the jurisdiction of the 98th?”

“Yes, Charles. It is. However, as the 98th had already devoted all of their manpower to this case, too many people in the area already recognize their staff from their recent witness interviews and canvassing. In fact, it is quite a coup for us that our department has been asked to go undercover--”

“I volunteer!” Amy’s hand was in the air before Captain Holt finished his sentence

“That’s good, Katniss, because I was going to assign you to this initiative anyway. Santiago, Diaz, you will be going undercover as a couple. You will put in regular appearances at the bar together, and in order to further cement your personae, I am pleased to announce you will be sharing an apartment in the neighborhood until this detail is complete. Overtime and standard undercover base pay increases will be authorized.”

Diaz crossed her arms with violent displeasure. “This sucks.”

Peralta let out a low whistle. “Sapphic sisters, oh yeah! 50 bucks to the first person to capture them kissing on film!”

Amy flushed. Her “Screw you, Peralta” was lost in the general hubbub of everyone trying to express their opinions and/or place bets at once.

Captain Holt cleared his throat. “We’re not going to have any issues, are we? We are all of us professionals, and adults?” he asked pointedly.

Peralta looked a little sheepish, which was probably a huge concession on his part but in Amy’s opinion was not nearly enough.

“Ladies. This will be your first priority, but as The Heaving Bosom does not open until 4 PM, you may report here at noon each day to keep up with case-related research and paperwork and assist your colleagues on our regular workload if you have any downtime. Any questions?”

“Yes, sir,” Amy said, leaning forward in her excitement. “Could you--”

“Do not ask me for any ‘gay pointers’ under any circumstances. We are not bonding about this.”

Amy sank dejectedly back into her chair.

* * *

Amy had sort of assumed that they’d be staying in a temporarily repurposed safehouse, or something, but the apartment they were going to be in was actually an [Airbnb](https://www.airbnb.com/help/question/1) in a regular building on Residential Place. The owner was donating two weeks’ use of the property to the department for free, since, in her words, “these fucking ignorant bigots need to die in a fire.”

“It’s nice,” Diaz said, poking at a throw pillow. It wasn’t clear whether she was pleased or annoyed by the observation.

It was pretty nice. It wasn’t quite as homey as Amy’s own apartment, but then, she’d had years to collect her knick knacks. It was certainly nicer than the generic safehouse or hotel room she’d been half-expecting. The A/C obviously worked really well because it was already pleasantly cool in spite of the summer heat.

“Here are the keys,” Terry said, handing them each a set. “You’ll start tomorrow so it’s up to you whether you stay tonight or bring your things in the morning.”

Amy fiddled with the keys for a moment, then tucked them into the side pocket of her purse. “When are you going to bring your stuff, Diaz?”

“Rosa.”

“Huh?”

“Call me Rosa, Amy. We’re supposed to be together.” Diaz -- _Rosa_ \-- crossed her arms and glared.

“Uh, sure. Yeah. I mean, call me Amy, of course.” Rosa’s glare softened a bit.

“I already am, you dork.”

Amy beamed back at her, because that sounded almost fond.

“So, tonight or tomorrow, do you think? _Rosa_?”

“I’m spending tonight with my boyfriend, since I won’t get to see him for a while. I’ll bring my stuff by on my way to the station.”

“Okay, uh, I was thinking, if it’s cool with you, I’ll move in tonight.”

“I don’t care.”

“Uh-huh. Only, um, I don’t -- I don’t really know what to bring. I mean, to wear, you know. L-like a … Like a -- women who -- girls kiss, in the clothes. Um.” Rosa looked at her blankly. “What do lesbians wear?” she wailed, throwing her hands in the air.

Amy had never seen Diaz -- _Rosa_ \-- roll her eyes so hard. Which was saying something.

“Whatever they want,” Rosa finally enunciated with enough exaggeration to get her point across. Amy smiled weakly, and Rosa sighed.

“You’re hopeless. You’ve probably got khaki shorts already, right?”

“Are those _gay_?” she asked.

“Oh my god, you have got to shut up about this. Not particularly, but if you wear khaki shorts and a shirt with buttons that hugs your rack the way your shirts normally do you’ll probably fit right in. In a good way,” Rosa said, scanning up and down Amy’s figure.

“Okay,” Amy said, a little breathlessly.

* * *

Amy packed snacks, a pallet of seltzer, her own toiletries (even though the Airbnb bathroom was already stocked), and her favorite stuffed giraffe. She had a true crime novel, and her laptop, and a couple of crossword puzzle books tucked in the side of her shoulder bag. Her spare sidearm was in a portable lockbox and her baton was collapsed inside her purse, next to the handcuffs. Her biggest suitcase was packed full of most of her summer wardrobe, because she only had two pairs of khaki shorts and wasn’t sure what else to bring. They probably wouldn’t need evening dresses but you never could tell. And the fancy lingerie, well. Maybe somebody would snoop in their room if they got suspicious. Amy wouldn’t want people to believe she wasn’t prepared to be sexy for her pretend girlfriend.

* * *

Amy woke up hugging a pillow in a strange bed. She also had a death grip around the neck of Spots the Giraffe and let go of both slowly, blinking against the ray of sunlight that had awakened her.

She bolted upright, panicked about being late to work for the first time ever, when she belatedly remembered she didn’t have to report until noon.

“Oh, thank crap,” she said, pressing her hand to her heart and waiting for her pulse to drop back to normal.

The mattress had been comfortable, but she didn’t know how she’d sleep when she had to share the bed with Rosa. What if she wound up hugging her the way she’d been hugging the extra pillow?

She swallowed heavily and made the bed quickly. Then she scrambled into the shower, determined to be out of the apartment before Rosa arrived with her things.

* * *

At a quarter to noon, Amy walked through the precinct doors. Rosa was already at her desk, talking to Boyle who hovered nearby.

“Hey, Santiago,” Hitchcock mumbled as he clipped his fingernails over his trash can.

“Hey,” she responded, and headed over to her own desk.

The break room door flew open in dramatic fashion, and Peralta tottered into the bullpen wearing a strawberry blonde wig, retro summer frock, and cute turquoise heels. He took a spin in the center of the room and his skirt flared up, showing a flash of knee.

Peralta wasn’t wearing any hose, and had obviously shaved his legs. The heels gave his calves a lovely shape, even if his footing wasn’t too stable. He stood there with his arms wide in welcome. “In case you ladies need some backup, I am ready -- and able --” Peralta paused to wiggle his eyebrows with a ridiculous leer, “to lend assistance. ASS-istance, really. What I’m saying is, I am prepared to grope you in public for greater justice. I think this skirt is fluffy enough that I don’t have to worry about ruining the lines if I get excited.”

“You’ve got nice legs,” Amy blurted.

“I helped him with the shoes,” Boyle informed them proudly.

“Peralta,” Captain Holt said from directly behind Jake, startling him into a jump. “You’re on. We just got a call from the fire marshall, they have requested assistance with an arson case.”

“Ha! Those jerkoffs, of course they did. Okay, just let me go--” Captain Holt’s hand descended on Peralta’s bare shoulder with an audible smack.

“No time for dilly-dallying, detective. Off you go.”

Amy had to bite her lip at the look of dread on Peralta’s face. She shared a glance full of mirth with Rosa but they both had to look away quickly to keep from laughing out loud as he was hustled out the door in all his 50s housewife finery.

* * *

They took Rosa’s car from the station to their temporary apartment. Since it was basically a bed-and-breakfast without the breakfast, there was a reserved parking spot for guests, but only the one.

“Should we have a backstory?” Amy asked on the ride over. “Oh, should we have cover identities? Maybe we shouldn’t be using our real names!”

“Suddenly you’re Peralta?” Rosa asked. “We should just keep our names so we don’t make mistakes. Why don’t you come up with our history and fill me in when we get inside.”

Amy hummed to herself and started imagining how they’d met. Amy was in grad school and Rosa was her barista -- no, Amy didn’t want to answer any questions about her field of study or what grad school was like. She knew a lot about cars, two of her brothers were mechanics, and that was a pretty butch occupation, right? So she was Rosa’s mechanic and Rosa was a teacher, who taught troubled teens… no, that whole Junior Policeman Program didn’t go so well. Maybe one of them had been _married_ , and it was quite the scandal when they got together.

“We’re here,” Rosa said. Amy blinked and realized the engine had been quiet for a minute or so already.

“Whoops,” she said, and Rosa almost smiled at her.

Upstairs, she announced, “You were a florist and I came in to buy flowers for my mother’s funeral. You were so kind that we became friends and I couldn’t help falling in love with you even though you were already married. You left your wife, her flower shop, and came to work with me at my small greeting card business.”

“No.”

“Ummm, okay, well I was also thinking that I could be your mechanic and --”

“No.”

“Well, what, then?” Amy demanded.

“Mermaid Parade. Coney Island. We got drunk and hooked up. Instead of going home we had breakfast together the next morning. Now here we are, six months later and new to the neighborhood.”

“Okay, ah. What do we do?”

“In bed? That’s nobody’s business.”

“No, no! Sheesh. For jobs! Where do we work?”

Rosa tilted her head up as she thought. “I’m a bartender. You… file things.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to get changed. Into my khaki shorts.”

“Call Boyle and ask him for a good pizza place that delivers around here.”

* * *

After they’d finished their admittedly delicious pizza, they headed out to the bar.

On the walk over, Amy felt more and more underprepared. “Rosa? You’ve actually… you’ve been with women before, haven’t you?”

Rosa stopped and stared at her for a moment. Amy stopped too.

“Yeah,” Rosa sighed. “You all know far too much about me already. I might have to transfer.”

“Shut up, you love us. I mean, not like that. Not that you shouldn’t! But anyway. How should I, um, what do I do?”

“There’s no secret handshake or anything.” Rosa said, and resumed walking. “And this isn’t a specialty club. For now, just act how you normally would in a straight relationship.”

“Um.” Great. Amy didn’t know how to do any of that stuff. Her relationships tended to go badly and end quickly.

Amy held the door open for Rosa and got an odd look as she stepped inside. They took seats at the bar.

“It’s pretty quiet,” Rosa said. “Good. I hate loud bars.”

“That’s because you work in one, huh?” Amy said loudly, draping an arm around Rosa’s neck and basically squeezing her into a headlock. “No taking the job with you on a night off, am I right, sweetie?” She awkwardly kissed the top of Rosa’s forehead with a loud smack and tried to wiggle her playfully with the arm keeping her trapped.

Rosa extricated herself, mussing her hair in the process, and gripped Amy’s arm so hard she had to be leaving bruises.

“What the hell are you doing?” she hissed. “Do you think this is a joke?”

“What? I, no, I just -- backstory?” Amy offered.

“If you’re this uncomfortable maybe we should call Peralta to take your place.”

“No! I, no.”

“No?”

“Can I get you something?” the bartender asked.

“No! I mean, yes, drinks. No to the other thing.” Amy said. “I’ll have a margarita on the rocks, please, no salt.” The bartender gave her a friendly nod in acknowledgment. She had curly blonde hair that was short enough not to need pulling back, and she wore cutoffs with a loose navy tank top. They looked really good on her but weren’t particularly revealing, or anything. Amy thought Rosa had been right about what she should wear to this place.

“Shot of Jaeger and a seltzer back,” Rosa ordered.

“I love seltzer,” Amy said.

“Seltzer’s good,” Rosa agreed.

The bartender stepped away to prepare their drinks.

“Sorry,” Amy said. “I’m not very good at this normally, so...”

“So this is even worse?” Rosa asked.

“Yeah, I guess.” Thankfully, their drinks arrived and they both addressed the alcohol gratefully.

“The one good thing about this gig is that you can drink on the job,” Rosa said. Amy knew she meant undercover work but anyone else listening in on their conversation would assume she meant the bartending thing. Rosa was good at things like that.

“It’s practically a _requirement_ ,” Amy giggled.

A few hours and a few rounds later, once they had established a rapport and made small talk with some of the other patrons, Amy was much more relaxed and Rosa was more benevolently inclined. Her hand was resting on the skin of Amy’s back, tucked up underneath the material of her shirt. She drew a curving line with her fingernail and Amy got goosebumps.

“Maybe women really are the answer,” Amy said. “This place is great, and this is the best date I’ve been on in months.”

Rosa snorted. “Your dates must suck.”

“They kind of do,” Amy agreed sadly.

“Is the sex any good, at least?” Rosa asked.

Amy shrugged. Back in high school, she’d slept with her prom date because it seemed expected. It hurt and was over quickly, but it was some kind of milestone, and she and Tommy hadn’t stayed together past graduation but nobody was upset or humiliated.

She had sex with the guys she dated after it seemed like they’d reached the point where it was socially acceptable to do so -- at least three dates -- and not-so-socially-acceptable _not_ to. There had been a couple of awkward mistakes, and she’d only occasionally had the kind of sex that she got really caught up in, but even those boyfriends didn’t last very long.

“I guess I’ve never been really comfortable with it. Sex.” Amy wasn’t drunk, but that came out a little slurred.

Rosa leaned in a little closer. The noise level had risen enough that nobody would be overhearing their conversation, even if they tried. “I think you like my hand on your back, at least.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Amy agreed.

“Have ever thought you might actually prefer women for real?”

The question might have made Amy panic any other time, but right now she was pleasantly buzzed and she trusted Rosa. “Not really,” she said honestly. “But then, I never expected to be really comfortable with that stuff with anyone.”

“Huh,” Rosa said, and they started chatting with the people around them all over again.

* * *

Since they’d been drinking, Amy texted their backup from the 98th before they headed out. They would be tailed by a hopefully invisible escort back to their room in case the perp took their bait tonight.

Somehow they wound up back on the topic of Amy’s lackluster love life during the walk.

“Maybe you’re one of those people that just doesn’t feel that way about anyone,” Rosa said.

 _No_ , she thought, remembering the shiver she got from the drag of Rosa’s fingernail along her back, or the way sometimes she thought it wouldn’t be so bad if she lost her ongoing bet with Peralta and was forced to go on a date with him. _That’s definitely not the case_.

“Does anyone really feel like that, or do they just say that because they can’t get who they want?” she asked, instead of answering.

“Don’t be an asshole. Of course they do.” Rosa’s tone was curt and distant again.

Amy tried to apologize but Rosa wouldn’t talk to her for the rest of the evening until she said “going to bed” and disappeared into their room, closing the door firmly behind her.

Amy didn’t think she’d have to worry about sleep-cuddling Rosa that night, because she was pretty sure she was supposed to sleep on the couch.

* * *

“M’not hungover,” Amy told the tabletop her face was smushed against when Rosa entered the kitchenette.

Rosa chuckled. “The coffee, water, dry toast, and Advil are just the breakfast of champions, right?”

“Rrt,” Amy mumbled.

Rosa grabbed an apple and a banana from the complimentary fruit bowl. “See you at the station, kiddo.”

“Mmmph.”

* * *

Nobody made a big deal out of anything at the station that day, except for the fact that Boyle won a spot as a guest blogger for _America’s Test Kitchen_.

“Congratulations, Charles,” Rosa said.

“Thanks!” Boyle said, obviously thrilled. “I want to do a piece about homemade bread but it’s too hot for that right now, isn’t it? People aren’t going to want to make bread in the middle of the summer. I think I’ll have to write about no-cook summer desserts. Or maybe zucchini. Everyone has too many zucchinis in the summer.”

There were nods of agreement all around. Amy nodded too, even though she didn’t know what he was talking about. No one in her family set foot in the kitchen if they didn’t have to. Amy certainly never had anyone to teach her how to cook. Her brothers were all alpha male types, and her mom was no less aggressive; she knew that other people’s Christmas Eves didn’t devolve into drinking contests but she wasn’t entirely sure what they did instead. Had after-dinner tea, maybe.

She thought she might like to have after-dinner tea.

“Good luck, Boyle,” she said.

* * *

Back at The Heaving Bosom again, Amy was going to stick to beer. “Hey, Chelle,” she said to the woman who sat next to them at the bar. “How did the interview go?”

Chelle had been drinking away her nerves the night before, and was still wearing what was obviously her interview suit. “Pretty great, actually. I’m just glad it wasn’t early in the morning,” she said with a wry grin.

“Shots to celebrate?” Rosa asked, and, okay, maybe Amy wasn’t going to stick to beer all night.

They passed out in the bed together, but nobody snuggled anyone, and it didn’t seem weird in the morning at all.

* * *

“Rosa! Amy!” someone cried out when they walked into the bar for the fourth night in a row.

“I never thought I’d feel like Norm from Cheers,” Amy waved at their new friends, giggling.

“Good thing you don’t look like him, though,” Rosa whispered into her ear, and dragged her over to their regular spot.

A little while later, an entire softball team came in to celebrate a win, so the two of them grabbed a booth away from the crush. Amy nudged Rosa with her knee. “I can’t believe how nervous I was to come in here at first,” she said.

“Yeah, me neither,” Rosa said.

“I’m sorry.”

Rosa hmmm-ed.

“I guess I was kind of a jerk.”

Rosa patted her thigh and left her hand there. “You know better now, though, right?”

“Yeah,” said Amy.

A couple of hours later they were still squished into the booth, kind of watching a baseball game on one of the TVs and kind of not. They were definitely not sober. This assignment better end soon, or Amy was going to become a lush, because this was a much more fun way of spending her evenings than her normal routine of work, gym, home, frozen dinner, shower, repeat.

“Hey, Rosa,” Amy said.

“What’s up?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Rosa looked at her for a long moment. “That’s probably not a good idea.”

“Please? Just to see what it’s like? I think you might be right. I might like women. Or I might like women, too. I might like you. And it would be good for our cover, right?”

“Fuckin’ terrible idea,” Rosa said, and kissed her. She pressed Amy back until her shoulders hit against the wall of the booth, and a needy noise escaped the back of Amy’s throat. She entwined her fingers in Rosa’s dark hair and clung. They separated for air but Amy dove right back in, savoring the slide of Rosa’s plush lips and flirting with her tongue.

This time when Rosa pressed her back against the booth wall, she did so at arm’s length. Amy was gratified to see that she looked mussed and glazed, even if she wasn’t breathing nearly as heavily as Amy was.

“Okay, Santiago, that was...”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’m guessing your sex life isn’t as dire as I’d thought, if that’s the way you kiss.”

Amy blushed and leaned forward.

Rosa scooted out of the booth and held up a warning finger. “I’m going to the bathroom,” she said. “And I’m going to come back with another round, and we’re going to watch the game, and then we’re going to play bait, and that’s it.”

“Okay,” Amy said. “I’m pretty sure I like girls, now, though.”

“Of course you do,” Rosa patted her hand and left.

* * *

Amy changed into one of her negligees while Rosa was washing up, just to see her reaction. Then she fell asleep.

* * *

The next day was rainy. Since it was a Saturday, they skipped the precinct and wandered over to the bar about 15 minutes after opening. Amy had just shaken out her umbrella and taken a sip of her first beer when they heard a commotion outside.

“Get off me, you jackass!” a woman’s voice yelled.

Amy sent the preset emergency text on her phone and grabbed the baton out of her purse. Rosa had her hand on the butt of her gun, since she was wearing a holster under her windbreaker thanks to the weather. They rushed outside and were quickly joined by their backup.

A damp but angry woman was holding a teenage boy by the hoodie. “This little shit and his little shithead friend tried to attack me,” the woman said. Two of the officers from the 98th took the kid into custody and the others set off to find his accomplice.

“They’ve been assaulting people for a while, but up until now, nobody’s managed to identify them. Good job,” Rosa told the woman.

“Thanks,” the woman beamed. Her name was apparently Louisa, and she also apparently enjoyed the adrenaline rush of apprehending wrongdoers. “So how did you become a cop? How long does it take?”

* * *

Amy’s car was still at the precinct, so they packed up all their things in Rosa’s trunk. “You sure do drink a lot of seltzer,” Rosa observed, since the pallet Amy had brought less than a week ago was already more than half empty.

“It’s important to stay hydrated! Especially with the amount of alcohol we were drinking,” Amy said.

They got in the car and Amy felt a pang of nostalgia at leaving their little bachelorette pad behind. The whole assignment turned out very differently than she’d anticipated -- no time at all bonding with the Captain, but way more time bonding with Rosa. Speaking of which, she still had questions after that kiss.

“So, are we, like...?”

“No,” Rosa said firmly, shifting her grip on the steering wheel to something tighter.

“No?” Amy couldn’t help asking, couldn’t help the way her voice quavered a little, even if she probably wasn’t ready to hear any other answer.

“Why do I have to keep reminding you people that I have a boyfriend,” Rosa complained.

“You… people?”

“You. Boyle.”

“Oh, Boyle,” Amy said, relieved. She knew that. Everyone knew that. But Boyle wasn’t any kind of rival. Amy would bet that _Boyle_ never kissed Rosa.

“Charles is nice, and he doesn’t have a weird thing for the Captain.” Rosa chided her. “And he saved my life.”

“That’s not fair,” Amy protested. “How am I supposed to compete with _that_?”

Rosa rolled her eyes. “BOY. FRIEND.”

Amy made an aggravated noise and slumped back in her seat, crossing her arms. A casual observer might say she was sulking.

They drove for a few minutes in a silence broken only by the sound of the windshield wipers and the whoosh of passing cars. And possibly the injured whine of Amy’s wounded pride.

Rosa cleared her throat. “I’ll tell you one thing, Boyle doesn’t have your rack,” she said, shooting Amy a quick but appreciative look.

Amy wasn’t sure whether she should feel objectified. After a moment of contemplation, she preened, since she was not generally objectified like a hotass, and she kind of liked it. Actually, she felt like a total hotass.

“Admit it, you think I’m a hotass!”

Rosa’s eyes slid down to her seat and gave her a sideways look, then turned back to the road. “I don’t think about your ass. Much.”

Amy smiled to herself all the way back to the station.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: This is intended to be a humorous fic about pigtail-pulling level flirtation, self-discovery, and learning how to be less of an ass. But it does contain derogatory terms and offensive language, some possibly questionable behavior from someone already in an established relationship, and brief mentions of harassment and hate crimes (in particular, directed against women assumed to be queer-identifying), but no graphic descriptions or on-screen violence. 
> 
> It’s actually pretty fluffy overall, I promise!


End file.
